Birthday Expectations
by Beautifully Ugly
Summary: JL, oneshot: "It’s your birthday. You’re seventeen. And to top it all off, it’s the weekend. A smile stretches from ear to ear. You jump out of bed, raring to go, certain that this will be the best birthday you’ve ever had." R


**Disclaimer:** Not mine, all J.K.'s.

**Author's Note: **Product of writers' block. I've been sitting at the computer for ages with the document for my other story open, seeming like I'm staring my way through the tale. It doesn't work. This is the result. This is kind of different, seeing as it's in second person and all. I'm trying out new styles, you see. Go on, make my day. Leave a review. :)

-

**Birthday Expectations**

-

An infuriating beeping sound invades your peaceful slumber filled with dreams of, for some unspecified reason, a certain someone with brilliantly dishevelled hair. You groan, cracking an eye open groggily to locate the source of the racket: your alarm clock. Fumbling for your wand, you raise it to your eye level and give it a quick flick, causing the noise to stop immediately. Sighing, you lie on your back, your legs tangled in the covers of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Then it hits you.

It's your birthday. You're seventeen. And to top it all off, it's the weekend.

A smile stretches from ear to ear. You jump out of bed, raring to go, certain that this will be the best birthday you've ever had. No more under-age drinking, no more curfews at home and best of all, you don't have the Trace on you any longer. You can do magic anywhere you please and the thought stimulates you further. You're convinced it'll be the life. You hum your favourite tune as you brush your teeth and get dressed, dancing around the shared bathroom in your undergarments. You grin, thinking of what others might say if they saw your current conduct.

You feel as though you've downed several bottlefuls of the Butterbeer, maybe even Firewhiskey; your light-hearted demeanour is simply too strong for it to be of a natural cause.

You wear your favourite skirt; hitching it up higher today and leave two of your top buttons undone on your tight, red shirt. It is, after all, your birthday. You pause to look in the mirror. A pair of laughing, vivid green eyes stares back at you and your plump, pink lips curve up in a captivating smile.

You decide to leave your normally curly, dark crimson locks down and straight today. You do not bother with mascara; you know you look good without the product, so you just apply a layer of lip-gloss expertly, pleased with the whole effect. A pair of simple, diamond ear-rings will suffice nicely for now, you conclude. Finished with your appearance, you gaze at your reflection again, finding it, for some bizarre reason, wondrous that you do not look a tad different from the day before, when you were sixteen.

You sashay joyously down the stairs and into the Heads' Common Room, a wide beam on your face, knowing that not even drinking the Essence of Euphoria will manage to top your sentiments of elation today.

And then you see him, the subject of your fantasies last night. Your heart nearly stops beating for a second.

He's laying on the couch, asleep, his hair more tousled than ever. His eyes are closed and his arm is dangling off the side of the couch, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his sharp nose. You supress the need to run your slender fingers through his unruly strands of hair, but even so, cannot refrain from tilting your head to the side at his adorability. His plain white t-shirt (which, you cannot evade from noticing, defines his muscular torso rather nicely) and pyjama bottoms are adorned with a number of Quaffles, Bludgers and Snitches. You smile at his predictability and stare at him a moment longer, lost in thought.

He's changed, you've perceived. He's not the arrogant toerag you branded him in Fifth Year. No, he's completely transformed. He's matured. And now, gazing at him as he snoozes, you think he looks innocent, peaceful. You think it's cliché that you think this of him now, after six years of him pursuing you. Still, a little cliché never hurt anyone. Even so, you can't fathom how you feel about him anymore. You may still act cold yet fiery towards him, but inside your mind is reeling when you think about him.

You let out a small, amused laugh. This is not the time to get baffled over James Potter. You can do that later, maybe tomorrow. Today, you want to focus on yourself for a change.

He stirs, and you freeze, wide-eyed. You let out a breath you didn't even realise you had held in as he smiles contentedly, continuing to doze.

You've decided to leave him be instead of waking him up and infiltrating his mind with your festiveness. With one last, lingering look towards his sleeping form, you climb out of the portrait-hole. You head down to breakfast, passing a few rowdy boys who whoop at you as you approach. You ignore them; those types of boys don't ever attract your attention.

Your friends join you down at breakfast a while later, blathering away casually. You greet them, they greet you. You wait patiently for them to realise it is your birthday, wish you, congratulate you. But alas, none of the squeals of delight you expected come. A fair amount of boys hoot and wolf-whistle as they stride past you, but your friends seem not to have noticed the effort you have taken today.

A flock of owls soar into the Hall, delivering letters and parcels to various students. You gaze up at the graceful birds with anticipation, in case your parents have sent you something. Five minutes later, your hopes of receiving a birthday card have been completely diminished. You wring your hands, simply because there it nothing else to do, still remaining quiet.

"Are you all right, Lily?" asks Emma, her watery-blue eyes concerned. You look up and smile reassuringly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you mutter inaudibly and miserably play around with the eggs on your plate using your fork. Emma turns back to her own food.

There is faint cheering to be heard, along with high-pitched, girlish giggles around the Hall. You raise your eyes to the doors of the Great Hall to see James Potter and Sirius Black come sauntering in, seeming to own the very air which they breathe. Peter Pettigrew is not far behind and is scurrying along in their wake. Remus ambles in a moment later, deep in conversation with Mary Macdonald, your best friend. You wonder vaguely what they might have to discuss, since they rarely ever speak to each other unless necessary.

"Hey, Lil," Mary slips into the seat beside you; her pretty features alight with a wide grin.

"Hey," you smile at her, anticipating her birthday wish for you, a wish that never comes as she helps herself to some sausages.

"Morning, Flower," a deep voice whispers into your ear, sending a reflexive shudder down your spine. You incline your head slightly to catch James plopping down on your other side. "You look beautiful today."

He smiles handsomely, his hazel eyes shining. Your heart flutters as you perceive that he is the first one to say this to you. You force a frown, distinguishing that you cannot let your guard down for one second where James Potter is concerned, no matter how smooth his demeanour. You pretend not to notice when he attempts to cover up the hurt that flashes through his eyes momentarily as you shun him, and begins eating breakfast.

A while later you find yourself in the Heads' Common Room again, this time completing your Transfigurations homework. This is not how you envisioned yourself spending your seventeenth birthday, you think somewhat dejectedly.

The portrait-hole swings open and Sirius Black swaggers in, grinning at you widely. His ebony hair falls into his silvery-grey eyes, which are twinkling merrily. The whole effect is, you admit to yourself, rather appealing. But for some reason, he does not attract you as James does.

"What are you doing here?" you enquire suspiciously. Sirius marches forwards importantly, and you almost snort as you witness his haughty manner.

"Thank you for the warm welcome," says Sirius sardonically.

"I meant, how did you in here?" you correct yourself after rolling your eyes at his melodramatic behaviour.

"Well, I can't tell you _that_," says Sirius, as if it is the most obvious statement in the world, "but I _can_ tell you that our dear Prongs – James, to you – sent me here to get you."

"Did someone mention my name?" An uncannily familiar voice speaks, and your eyes snap to the portrait-hole once more to see James smirking at you, his hazel eyes glinting with laughter.

For some unspoken reason, butterflies tremble in your abdomen as he strides towards you cavalierly. You do not notice Sirius standing behind James, wearing a smirk comparable to his, as James halts in front of you. It is just you and James. The rest of the world seems to have disappeared.

"May I have the honour of escorting you to the Gryffindor Common Room?" James holds out his arm in a most chivalrous fashion, and you nearly melt. Nearly.

"Why?" you retort, steeling yourself hastily to prevent from falling into his arms. He sighs and his arm flops to his side.

"I have something for you," he says softly, his eyes connecting with yours.

For a moment you stare back and something stirs within you, something so unnameable, so powerful it scares you. You're unnerved by the proximity and nod your head as if you're in a deep trance. You drop your quill on top of your half-finished essay, and slowly rise to your feet. He leads you out of the room and into the long, dark corridor lit only by a few candles which shine brightly.

You can't comprehend why you're following him; it's as if your long, tanned legs are carrying you along in contrary to your brain. Now you're wondering how your hand has managed to slip into his comfortably, why you are not tugging it away from his grasp. Maybe it's because he is one of the most handsome bachelors in the school, you reason. Maybe it is because he has been chasing you for near enough six years, maybe it is just instinctive. Whatever the reason, you're tagging along beside him, entranced, your fingers interlaced through his.

Before you know it you're both confronted by the Fat Lady, who demands for the password. Unruffled, James utters the word she requires, "Veritaserum". The portrait swings forward to reveal a very eerily deserted Common Room. He guides you to the middle of the room and stops there, his hand still holding yours. Upon realising this, you hastily let go of his hand and let it fall to your side.

"Where is it?" you query, referring to whatever he may have for you. Curiosity grows in the pit of your stomach.

"Close your eyes," he instructs. You look at him sceptically.

"Why?" Inquisitiveness is at its peak now, you need to know.

"Come on, close your eyes." He gestures using his head briefly, ignoring your question.

"But…" you begin, wracking your brains for a reason to refuse his request before realising there are none.

"Do you trust me?" he asks tenderly. You are momentarily taken-aback by his tone and by his words. Do you trust him?

The answer floats into your head, crystal clear. Against all better judgement, you respond to his question, hesitant though you may be.

"Yes," you murmur, searching for imperfections on your heels as a faint blush creeps across your cheeks. You glance up at him fleetingly to see surprise flicker through his eyes before he smiles.

"Good," he says. "Close your eyes." You waver, still uncertain. "Please, Lily." His hazel eyes beseech you. "Let me do this for you, just today." You offer him a small, coy smile before you do as he tells you.

Your pale, long eyelashes brush your high cheekbones as you wait for him. Your other senses heighten, and all of a sudden you are aware of a quite pleasant scent of cologne. You've never thought James would smell this good. Maybe because you have never appreciated your propinquity like you do now.

"Lily," says James quietly. You sense him edge closer to you.

"Uh-huh…" There is a prickling sensation on the back of your neck; you are much too close… You feel his hot breath on your face, and your heart begins to pound just that little bit louder, quicker.

"Happy birthday." Tears quiver beneath your eyelids; he is the first person to wish you.

And then his lips are on yours, kissing you softly. His lips feel warm against yours, and astonished though you may be, you kiss him back, caressing his lips as fierily as he is yours. Its intuition, you notice. Everything is intuitive with him.

It's bliss, absolute Heaven as he pulls you towards him, an arm wrapped securely around your waist, one hand tangled in your scarlet tresses. You've kissed other boys before, sure, but never has it been this intense, every moment adding to the effect.

You seem to disregard the fact that you're in the Gryffindor Common Room, where any one of your friends could stride in and discover you doing this, and lock your arms around his neck so that your bodies bang together. You curse at yourself, speculating as to why you've not done this before. You fleetingly wonder whether he mimics your present feelings, he has pursued you for six long years after all.

Unable to hold yourself any longer, you rake a hand through his windswept hair, rumpling it even further. You find his locks surprisingly soft and silky, and brush your fingers through it once more as James tightens his grip around you. Forced by the sheer need for air, you break away from him, breathing hard.

You open your eyes, needing to look into his warm hazel ones, needing to search them, needing to determine whether he meant that eloquently fervent, breathtaking kiss as much as you did.

"Surprise!" a chorus of voices shout from behind you. You swivel around; thoughts of James temporarily pushed aside, and are faced with Mary, Emma and a number of your other friends, along with the Marauders. They are all clutching a number of birthday banners and gifts which vary in size.

Shock is the one emotion you feel briefly as you observe all of them who are wearing the same, satisfied smile. A smile so wide you think their faces are about to split open. Gratitude swells in your heart as an enormous beam spreads itself across your face like smooth, creamy butter on a slice of bread. You let out a laugh, a joyful laugh which lights up every dark, dank corner of the room and clap your hands to your mouth.

"Happy birthday!" they all yell in unison, and begin to cheer for you.

"For me?" your voice is barely a whisper, but everyone hears it.

"For you," Mary steps up and gives you a hug. "Happy seventeenth!" She presents you with a gift, and you stare down at it, still overwhelmed by amazement and appreciation.

"But…but – what…_who _–?" Through your unintelligible words, your friends are still able to understand what you are attempting to convey.

"It was all James," Emma grins at James, who is standing behind you.

"James?" you gasp. You whirl around immediately, and there he is, beaming at you happily. If your heart hasn't melted at his gesture, it certainly has now.

"It wasn't me," he mumbles humbly, still grinning. "It was them, I only –"

But the rest of his words are lost as you rush up to him, throwing your arms around him. You've knocked the wind out of him and he stumbles backwards, lifting you up off your feet and spinning you around automatically as he attempts to keep his balance and hug you back simultaneously. You can sense his surprised yet pleased smile, and embrace him even tighter, if possible. If you've felt anything for him previously, it is nothing compared to how you feel about him now.

"Thank you," you whisper breathlessly into his ear. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Those two small words fail to express your current feelings, and somehow, you know that no words possibly can. "Thank you so much, James!" It is the first time you've ever referred to him by his given name, and when you pull back, he looks as if Christmas has arrived early.

"Anything for you," he breathes, staring deep into your eyes.

His lips are right there, full, alluring, inviting. And again, you act on impulse. You press your lips against his, not caring whether you are in a room full of people, not caring whether the whole world is witnessing this, instead concentrating on James and the feel of his lips against yours. When you pull away, the smiles on both of your faces are simply ecstatic.

Your friends have tactfully moved from their positions and are now busying themselves with placing your gifts on the desk, the pile growing higher and higher. Sirius, Remus and Peter suddenly appear, laden with bottles of Butterbeer, Firewhiskey and an assortment other drinks and snacks. They set the food and drinks down on one of the desks, and Remus flourishes his wand smartly so that they arrange themselves neatly.

"Now _this_ is going to be a party," whoops Sirius, his eyes crinkling merrily towards you and James. He snatches a bottle of Firewhiskey and grins at you before striding over to the middle of the room, intoning a badly-tuned chorus of "Happy Birthday".

"How did you _get_ all this stuff?" you ask in wonder, turning towards Remus.

"That's for us to know and for you to speculate," Remus tweaks his nose mysteriously in a manner you find most annoying. Perhaps some of your feelings have been betrayed on your face, for Remus chuckles. "Happy birthday, Lily," he says, grabbing a bottle of Butterbeer and ambling over to where Sirius is.

James grips your hand as a crowd of boys and girls alike surround you, presenting you with well wishes. You barely listen to a word the crowd around you chatters, for you are too busy glancing at, and sharing secretive smiles, with James.

You were right this morning; you contemplate, grinning as everyone gathers around you, singing "Happy Birthday". Your face is illuminated only by the seventeen candles on your sphere-shaped chocolate cake. Absolutely nothing can beat your sentiments of elation, not today. You close your eyes, hunting through your brain for a wish as Sirius yells at you to hurry up, that he'll gobble the cake all up if you don't. You discover that you do not have anything to wish for, everything you could possibly want or need is in your life, and you are grateful for that. You open your eyes, smiling still, and blow out the candles. Various mutters of "_Lumos_!" are rippling throughout the room, and you are once more bathed in light.

You cut the cake, your mouth filling with saliva at the thought of popping a Heavenly slice of chocolate cake into your mouth. Nevertheless, you feed some to your friends first and even Sirius and Remus, all of them acting ridiculously as someone takes the pictures. Peter, you decide, can feed himself, for you do not wish to get your fingers damp with drool. You beckon James over, and he comes over, kneeling down next to you and parts his lips expectantly as the slice of cake in your hand nears his mouth. A wicked glint in your eye, you push the cake into his face, and everyone roars with laughter.

Yes, you do have everything you could possibly want, you think, as you chortle along with your friends at James endeavouring to wipe the icing from his mouth. Someone requests for a picture of the new couple, and you and James are pushed forwards, James still furiously attempting to clean his face up while trying to his hide his grin at the same time, you still giggling. James, upon successfully having removed the icing on his face, twirls you around and dips you in a most romantic fashion, a hand on the small of your back, causing the girls in the room to sigh longingly and cast dark looks at the opposite gender, who are still hooting with laughter.

It _will_ be the life, you believe, dropping your almond-shaped eyes to yours and James's entwined fingers as you sit in James's lap after the party in an armchair before the fireplace, his arms around you. It's not _only_ because you have a loving family and friends. You smile as you survey an owl flying through the window and Mary untying the parcel strapped to its leg. It's not at all because magic is unlimited to you now, and certainly not because you are a free citizen.

No, it's because you have James.


End file.
